


it's not me, it's you

by fuscience



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuscience/pseuds/fuscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sufficiently clear to anyone with eyes that Felicity and Oliver have absolutely no idea what to do with each other. Or, four times Oliver and Felicity stumble into love</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not me, it's you

**Author's Note:**

> This has four parts and each is progressively longer. I wrestled with the idea of posting it all at once or splitting it up. Hopefully this was the right choice!
> 
> I accidentally deleted this entire thing and then rewrote it. I'm not as happy with the second draft, but it is what it is :( So, if something doesn't make sense it's probably because I tried to rewrite from memory and it's incongruous with the new stuff. Lemme know

**I. Unilaterally Disarmed**

 

 

Felicity is new to this whole super, secret vigilante thing, but she was fairly sure the dress code involved not standing out. It seemed like a logical assumption, at the time.

  
  
" _What_ are you wearing?"

  
The pounding of the music follows Felicity down the stairs into the foundry until she's face to face with Oliver Queen whose eyes are currently about the size of dinner plates, wide with incredulity and, yes, she suddenly feels a little stupid.

  
"When you said meet me at Verdant - I thought - I thought, you know, I should _blend_." Wiggling her fingers to emphasize the point.

  
"No." Oliver's jaw clicks shut, mouth set in a stoney frown. Felicity sighs, lip curling in exasperation - this guy and his face, he really needs to lighten up.

  
"I know that now, obviously." She throws a hand out wildly at his half-dressed state - she'd walked in on him working out, not in club appropriate attire - before drawing a hand down the sides of her dress. It sparkles in the light, gemstones braking across one strap, while the other shoulder is bare and the purple satin skims the edges of her breasts and waist, stopping short some few inches above her knees.

  
"At least I now know I have something, just in case and I didn't go shopping, had a perfectly good dress in my closet. I was going for Ocean's Eleven meets James Bond - undercover casino." Oliver doesn't understand yet, but Felicity knows one too many things about dressing up for gambling. The day he finds out the little fact will fly by his head, but later, when the danger has passed, he'll lie awake, thinking of her in a Vegas showroom, playing the tables like a professional and stunning all those around her. He'll think of her intelligence and determination, the way her eyes probably lit up with every flip of a card, shuffling the deck in wide windmill motions, and he'll wonder if she was happy.

  
Felicity tugs up at the hem of her dress, revealing more skin and Oliver makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Her head jerks up and she looks at him strangely. "You okay?"

  
" _Fine._ " He averts his eyes and sticks his tongue between his teeth, biting. "You'll want to change - I don't think that, " he gestures towards the outfit and she's momentarily offended, "is the best attire for infiltrating a federal database."

  
  
"Somehow, I don't think they'll care." Oliver doesn't react to the statement and Felicity clears her throat, before pumping a tentative fist in the air.  "But Yay! More felonies, always imagined spending the nights of my youth like this, rebel with a cause." Her hand lowers, but his lips are curled on the corners so she's pleased. "You know, we should have a  contest. See who can wrack up the most potential years in prison - your younger years of alcohol abuse do not count."

  
"Felicity."

  
"Right. Work to do - growl, grrrrr." Felicity mockingly claws at the air, imitating Oliver. "I don't have anything to change into though, so the world will have to wait."

  
He could leave her in the dress. It'd really be fine. But she walks over to the computers, bending to reach the mouse and Oliver watches the dress ride up again, revealing lace. So, no, she won't be wearing that dress anymore tonight. Not here. With him. Bad idea.

"Wait. I have some things I keep here," he tilts his head at her, "just in case."

Felicity frowns at Oliver's back as he goes to dig out a pair of shorts and one of his work shirts. She doesn't think of herself as _un_ atrattactive but Oliver's rush for her to change is a low blow to the ego. In fact, it's a little rude.

When he returns, the bundle of clothes are thrown unceremoniously at her and Oliver meet her gaze. She raises an eyebrow in question.

"Oooookay. You must really want me out of this dress." His head jerks up sharply, eyes dark, and Felicity flushes, this is exactly the kind of impression she wants to keep leaving with her boss. Which he still is, despite their strange pseudo-friendship they share at night. "Not that - that's not what I meant. I know you don't want me. Naked. With you. Here."

  
The images that flit through Oliver's head as Felicity continues talking are wholly inappropriate for the type of relationship he has with her, this brilliant slip of a girl he found hidden in the recesses of his family's company.

  
_Dirty blonde hair spread across the mats, slightly curled at the ends from the heat between them. Her body flushed and pink in all the right places. His hands everywhere._

  
Felicity takes one last look at him before scurrying off red-faced into the small area they curtained off into a changing room - not that she minded seeing Digg and Oliver go  into a dark corner to put on fresh clothes, but they minded. They just didn't seem to appreciate her smile when they walked out that blasted, " _I know you were just naked ten feet from me."_

  
Oliver hears the door click behind him and releases the breath he'd been holding since she'd walked through the door in a dress that was _wrong_  for her. Or maybe too right. It's not like it's the first time he's seen a girl in a short dress, not even the first one since he came back from his five-year involuntary island sabbatical. He just hasn't reacted that strongly to any of them and it was disturbing - to not be able to place his finger on the reason Felicity brought out this side of him.

  
"And I'm back. It's cheating, by the way, if you committed any crimes while I was gone."

  
Oliver generally considers himself to be fairly intelligent despite his inability to complete a college education. He had survived and thrived in hostile environments since he was young and that took a fair amount of brains. At the moment though, he wanted to take every good self-assessment and _crush_  it with his bare hands because what part of him thought it would be a good idea to take Felicity out of a scandalously generic dress and put her in _his_  clothes?

  
The white dress shirt barely skims the top of her knees and his shorts aren't even visible underneath the long material so it looks as if all she's wearing below is underwear. Her hand reaches to tug the sleeve up, the shirt slowly falling off her shoulder and the cuffs are rolled up to her elbows, making her arms look ridiculously small. A wave of desire and possessiveness washes over him and Oliver clenches his jaw, a muscle tick making itself visible in his cheek. Those images return unbidden to his mind.

  
  
_Felicity bent over the computer desk, his shirt hitched above her waist and his fingers deep inside her. His mouth tracing a path from spine to hip, stopping at the gap between her legs. The sounds she makes for him._

  
Inappropriate doesn't even begin to cover the depths of his imagination. Oliver makes a humming noise before forcing his body to relax, and smiling at her, "You know nothing gets done without you around."

  
  
"Got that right." Felicity grins up at him, eyes shining behind her glasses and a burst of happiness shoots it's way down Oliver's spine.

 

**II. It Comes and Goes**

 

  
Oliver's got his big boy suit on today, club owner face in place as he exits a meeting with suppliers. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to do, but, according to Thea, _owning a business meant actually taking an active interest in the day to day activities._

  
  
He leans on the railing, observing the crowd below and his eyes immediately catch a blonde head bobbing through the entrance. Felicity waves a hand at Matt, the  Monday night bouncer, and Oliver watches as she pushes through to a group of friends waiting at the bar. He doesn't stop to think how he can pick Felicity out so quickly, definitely doesn't consider why.

  
  
Taking the steps two at a time, fingers trailing the railing, Oliver makes his way over to her.

  
"What are you doing here?"

  
She was obviously conversing with Ben the bartender, but when she turns to Oliver, Felicity doesn't seem too perturbed by the interruption. Her eyes don't quite meet his, focused slightly more on the dance floor. That bothers him somehow - that, for once, he doesn't garner her entire attention.

"I am drinking, Mr. Queen." Felicity raises her glass at him in mock salute and he frowns, eyeing her waspishly. Her brows furrow together petulantly in response, "Don't give me that, Oliver. Crime may not take a night off, but I do."

  
Without another word, she flits off into the crowd, joining up with some friends and effectively ending their conversation. He watches her move. Jerking left and right, bouncing around with friends to some song that's far too new for him to recognize. Oliver smiles. He would never intentionally begrudge Felicity any amount of happiness and seeing her in a new environment is invigorating for him. She does a little twirl and stumbles and Oliver takes a hesitant step forward, but someone else catches her and he relaxes for a moment - until that person turns out to be male, offering Felicity a dance. Oliver stops watching now. As much fun as observing her is, seeing her with someone else is painful. A boy from Central city remains in his memory.

The entrance to the foundry stares at him from across the room and Oliver orders a quick whiskey and coke before heading downstairs.

  
He wastes away in Felicity chair, drinking and spinning, before standing and pacing, trying to occupy his mind. His fingers itch with the desire to pick up his bow and smear a line of green across his eyes, but the image of Felicity and the stranger comes to mind. Oliver's knuckles turn white as his hands fist and he stays.

  
  
There's a dull knocking on the door about an hour later and then the sound of the electronic locks releasing reverberate through the room. Felicity appears, stumbling down the stairs, holding on to the railing as if her life depended on it, and Oliver rushes to the bottom to catch her falling into his arms.

  
"Hey." She mumbles into his chest, glasses askew.

  
"Hey."

  
Felicity laughs to herself, quiets, and then leans up on her toes to whisper in his ear, "I'm drunk."

  
She's _adorable_.

"I see." A piece of Felicity's hair tickles his nose and the scent of alcohol, sweat, and something floral wafts over him.

  
"You should really tell Ben to cut people off earlier."

  
"Duly noted." There's a hint of amusement in Oliver's voice and she can feel the curve of his lips against her head. Felicity loves when he smiles at her - Oliver's so sad all the time and she likes to believe she helps stave that sadness off sometimes. Pushing off of him, she takes a few unsteady steps forward before slipping off her heels and walking all the way over to her computer.

  
  
Oliver's eyes are on her again. Felicity had felt his stare, burning into her back, as she had walked away and moved on the dance floor. His gaze has admittedly spurred her on. Whether to spite him or in spite of him she wasn't sure, but when another guy asked her to dance she'd said yes. Oliver's absence, instantly noticeable, had interrupted her night and she hadn't been able to concentrate without his looming presence. So, Felicity had decided, he owed her a dance. The beginning notes of Frank Sinatra float through the speakers and Felicity drunkenly sings along.

  
  
" _My story is much too sad to be told..._ "

  
  
Oliver's found her at her desk singing and humming, spinning around in her chair, like she is now, plenty of times. He's stood there and watched her because as carefree as Felicity acts, rarely is she truly unburdened and there are moments where he knows that's his fault. (If she heard that he has no doubt she would laugh, telling him, "The world doesn't begin and end with you Oliver Queen. Not everything is yours to shoulder.")

  
" _But practically everything leaves me totally cold..._ "

  
  
Lost in thought, he doesn't notice Felicity pad over, bare feet cold against the concrete floor, until she's grabbing his hand. "We need to dance. This is a club and you should dance. With me."

  
  
"I didn't come here to dance." His refusal is soft and she ignores it, placing one of his hands at her waist and entertaining her fingers with the other. "Felicity."

 

_"I get no kick from champagne, mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all."_

  
  
She hums in acknowledgement, mumbling the next lyrics, but continues to shuffle her feet into position, before looking up at him, eyes still bright with alcohol. "Ready? 1, 2, 3, 4... 1, 2, 3, 4..."

  
Years of prep school lessons come into use now as Oliver's feet move perfectly, "You don't have to count. I know how to foxtrot."

  
"Well, yeah, but I don't," and as if to prove a point her foot lands on his and they stumble off time for a moment. "See?"

  
There's a rumble in his chest that comes close to contentment and Felicity feels his fingers flex on her waist, curling inward, thumb swirling light circles against the material of her dress. Without her heels on Oliver is quite a bit taller than her and he's forced to lean down to speak into her ear. "I came to do work."

  
  
His hands, hot and heavy on her, say differently, but she'll let him have his denial. Leaning her head  against his chest she says, "Just enjoy it."

 

_"So, tell me why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you?"_

  
And he does. Oliver enjoys the feel of her in his arms far more than he is supposed. Felicity thinks she knows how he feels about her, intimate partnership, but it's so much more now. It's the heat of the sun on his back between the knots of scar tissue, it's sleeping through the night without waking to sand between his teeth, it's her arms around him after a close call whispering, "Welcome home." It's everything he'd hoped for when the island had released him, it's everything he'd feared he'd lost.  
  
The song draws to a close, but they continue swaying, stepping lightly in the dance pattern. After what feels like years, they stop. Felicity steps away first.

 

**III. Look Deeper**

 

  
It's a testament to how angry they are that any of their words can be heard above the blasting club music, as they stand in a corner near the foundry's entrance fighting the fight to end all verbal fights.

  
  
"You're not going."

  
Felicity is so angry that all she can see is red - the red of the lights, the red of the bar, the red of Oliver's tie which she wants to wrap around his neck and squeeze until his face is as red as everything else in her vision.

  
"What is your problem!" She's so close he can smell the mint gum on her breath.

"My problem is you creating a plan that I don't approve of." Oliver is ice and steel, calm, standing in a castle of his own ego. Felicity wants to punch him. She would too if it wouldn't end up hurting her more than him.

  
  
" _A plan you don't approve of_?"

  
  
"I don't need you to be bait." He spits out the last word bitterly, like acid on his tongue. "We can find another way. I don't need your help."

  
A hedge fund manager turned drug kingpin turned arms dealer with a penchant for blondes - dyed or not - who won't speak to Oliver Queen and lives in a veritable 15th century fortress for the Arrow to break into. But no. He doesn't need her help at all.

  
  
"Oliver - you!" She stutters in shock, can't even process the words he chose. It's not even in the context of this particular mission that his words are offensive, it's the fact that he chose to utter them at all. She know he's emotionally impulsive, but this is just stupid. "You don't get _to say tha_ t."

  
  
Her vision spins, the rage overtaking her and Felicity goes to angrily punch in the code to the foundry, storming down the steel steps. Oliver sputters, nostrils flaring in his own particular brand of righteous indignation. She's halfway to the computers before he catches up to her.

  
  
"I - "

  
" _I_ \- ," Felicity spins on her heel, turning to face him and bringing her finger up to poke him in the chest. " _You_  are not the sun, Oliver Queen. Things do not revolve around you. _This_  is not about you. Is not for you. In fact, it involves you very little."

  
  
Oliver draws himself to his full height in a stance of intimidation, pushing aside her finger and roaring, "You're always talking about other ways! This way is unacceptable!"

  
"My life! My choices!  You do not hold a monopoly on helping people! So either step back or get on board." She snarls back, viciously defending her decision. She knows Oliver has issues with sharing, that he wants to put the world on his shoulders because he thinks he deserves this. Felicity understands that - more than he knows. For the first time in the past ten minutes, she takes a step forward, reaching for his hand. "This is your team, Oliver. A team. That means you don't get to do this alone. "

  
His face breaks, mask crumbling before her eyes as the anger drains out, leaving him pale and open. "I - "Oliver stops, trying to collect himself. He's not used to feeling so much in so short of a time. Felicity always confounds him like this, bringing back things he thought had been long lost. Either way, this wasn't how he wanted the conversation to go, these are not the words he wanted to say and certainly not the emotions he wished to evoke. "I know that. When I started this, though, I _was_  going to do this alone. Then Diggle and you came and I never counted on - " the word is there but he doesn't say it - caring. Oliver hadn't held many illusions about rebuilding his old life, had maybe fantasized about a world where he could rebuild his family, take back the lost years with Thea, reconnect with Laurel, forgive his mother, but the larger part of him recognizes these dreams for what they are - fiction.

  
"I won't be your code monkey, Oliver. I haven't stayed behind my computers this entire time - what make you think I'll start now? And you - you've never fought me so hard on this. Why?"

  
Oliver runs a weary hand down his face, eyes flicking nervously. "I know - I know that. This isn't me questioning your ability in the field. _I know how good you are._ " His face takes on that constipated look he wears so well, brow furrowed, lips thin, "I can't always handle it."

  
Felicity steps even closer, wrapping her hand even tighter around his. Oliver's stance is stiff, waiting for the backlash - he doesn't have a leg to stand on because there's no _rational_   reason to keep Felicity in the foundry.  He trembles slightly when her other hand comes up to his cheek. At the feel of her touch, he leans in, his own large hand coming up to cover hers.

  
"Oliver..."

  
"It's been 94 days since Slade. 2,262 hours. I can't do it. Not yet, at least. I can't watch you - " He looks at her pleadingly, chest heaving. "I don't doubt you, I doubt myself."

  
Felicity is reminded of how close Oliver has kept her since that moment all those months ago where she had given herself to Slade, how he'd carefully minimized her field work,

  
She looks at him, hesitating smile creeping up, before saying "Are you counting the minutes too?"

 

He weakly laughs and it vibrates against her palm.

 

"135,720."

"Not bad for someone who got a D in tenth grade algebra."

Oliver is infinitely obtuse with his emotions, but his drive to keep those around him safe is one she's intimately familiar with. He's saved her in many ways. His eyes glaze over and he's not with her anymore. This happens sometimes. Oliver will stop talking mid-sentence or lose focus on paperwork, lost in some long past memory. The only time Felicity knows Oliver will never wander off is when he's fighting, his survival instincts kick in and is vision narrows to a pinpoint on the mission at hand. It is both wholly impressive and disturbing all at once.

"Oliver." He won't look at her, head swaying in anguish, and her tone sharpens this time. "Oliver."

  
  
Oliver comes back to the present, like surfacing in the cold ocean water, and bites his own tongue at the look on Felicity's  face - fierce, protective, hyper analytic - everything he admires about her playing across the contours of her face.

  
  
"Slade is gone and even if he wasn't, we can't hide forever." It's extremely kind of her to say we - Felicity hasn't shirked a single responsibility since he walked into her cubicle two and a half years ago, all surprising smiles and ridiculous lies. Oliver's the one who runs, not her, and he knows this.

  
  
He leans in, tight grip on her hand, and presses their forehead together. Their eyes stay open and Oliver looks into hers, "I'm sorry."

  
  
"I know. You're a special snowflake, but the cold won't scare me off." Felicity's lean back and tilts her head to the side, "Sorry, that was a strange extended metaphor. I just meant that we're in this... together." Oliver swallows down the urge to press closer, look into her eyes as he presses his lips to hers, watch them widen and then, hopefully, slide shut. But the tension slips away as their hands release and they step back, away from whatever edge they were standing on. "Now, I'm going up to get dressed and you're going to sharpen your arrows or whatever."

 

Her feet sound off against the floor, announcing her intention to leave.

  
  
"Felicity."

  
  
She spins back to face him, teeth wrapped around her bottom lip."Yeah?"

  
  
He holds up a one lone finger and tentatively says, "One request."

  
  
"Sure."

  
"Don't wear the gold one. The gold dress - don't wear it tonight."

The edges of her lips curl upward into an infectious, teasing smile and he imagines, for a moment, that he could touch them.

  
  
"Sure, Oliver."

 

**IV. Unconscious Coupling**

  
  
He comes to her the next night, approaching like a wounded animal with Chinese takeout and a chocolate eclair from the high-end bakery near Queen Consolidated - she hasn't had one since the company had been lost.  
  
  
  
"God," It's a fond sigh that escapes her lips as she stares adoringly at the spread of food, turning to grab Oliver's hand in gratitude. "I love you."

  
  
He startles and their hands drop. "What?"

  
Felicity takes on that deer in the headlights look that she wears so well - the glasses only enhance her bug-eyed appearance. "What?"

 

"You..." Her other hand slips from his grasp as Felicity backs away, "...love me?"

 

"No." It's a knee jerk response, yet  not entirely untrue, but Oliver's face falls and _it isn't fair_.

 

"No?" There's suddenly this huge chasm between them and Felicity hates that she's the one who withdrew, but this is a dance they've done before and Felicity loses a bit of herself every time.

  
"I mean - Of course I care for you, but you're you," Oliver's an important part of her life, arguably, what they do together at night, means more than anything she's ever done. He's also everything she's feared in every relationship she's ever forged because Oliver _leaves_. Ignoring the fact that he shuts down emotionally, distancing himself from everyone close, whenever things get bad, but there's the possibility, every night, that he goes involuntarily, that he dies and leaves her behind. She can't do that. Felicity can't. He's the bad idea to end all bad ideas, no matter how well his hands fit against hers "And I'm me and we're us. So - "

"I love you." The words spring up unbidden, as if Oliver can't contain them within him anymore and maybe he can't. He shrugs his shoulders, gaze boring into her. "I do. I love you."

  
  
He says it like comprehension will dawn on her soon. No. No. No. Her head shakes, lips quivering slightly. " _No._ "

  
Because last time he did this - they did this - there was a madman with a knife to the city's throat and there were people to save. It wasn't real. Felicity had told herself to take a step back, remove herself from the flirtatious thoughts that circled her head concerning Oliver. It wasn't real. And she did. She moved on, got past it, recovered, and she didn't leave and Oliver didn't leave so everything was _okay_ and _good_. _Great_. It wasn't real.

  
"I'm sorry." Oliver moves into her space, all wide shoulders and muscles. his hands come up to her shoulders and he's bending down. "I meant it then. I mean it. I'm sorry, it took so long. I love you."

  
They both know what he's talking about, but there's a spark of doubt and fear in Felicity's eyes that Oliver is determined to erase. He understands the sentiment - fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Felicity is no fool and he would never dare to call her one. His fingers trail down Felicity's arms and waist until one hand wraps around her hip, drawing her forward in one motion until they're breathing the same air. He waits there, not finishing the act, waiting for her to consent.

  
This is a horrible, terrible, no-good idea, but Oliver loves her, and maybe a bigger part of her than she believes returns the sentiment because her lips press forwards against his, with no plans of leaving anytime soon. Felicity throws an arm around his neck, pressing his head closer to  her and she feels his fingers jerk and tighten against her skin. Oliver is surprised she responded, after everything he's done it wouldn't have been unbelievable for her to push him away. Her fingers run through the short bristles of his hair, cutting paths across his scalp, and Oliver lets loose a groan before tugging her even closer, mouths mashing together. His arm drops from her waist to butt, pushing up and Felicity acquiesces, wrapping her legs around him. Oliver talks to her, leaving open mouthed kisses against her neck.

  
"I sleep better with you close."

  
  
His lips drag a trail down to her clavicle, and Felicity's breath hitches when Oliver stops at the dip between her breasts.

  
  
"I feel stronger with you inside me." He grins. "And by you I mean your voice, and by me I mean my ear."

  
  
Felicity laughs, a little part of her heart blossoming, realizing he remembers that conversation and she wonders if he catalogues her movements and moods the way she does with him. Oliver backs them against the wall so he only needs one hand to prop Felicity up, leaving the other free to wander up her shirt. Really, it's enough to just get to touch her, it's more than he deserves, but her body arches against his palm and Felicity grinds her hip into his and that just won't do.

  
  
Felicity's mind is hyper-focused. Pinpointing every move of Oliver's lips and fingers, every time he adjusts his body or his breath hitches. With his hand up her shirt, inching even closer to the front clasp of her bra, she can't help but be reminded of college make out sessions, never complete without -  
  
The locks on the foundry door release.  
  
\- unwelcome interruptions from roommates.  
  
  
Roy comes through the door first, head turned in conversation towards Diggle, and Felicity takes advantage of that moment to push Oliver away. Her feet hit the ground and she springs apart from him, hands reaching to smooth down the wrinkles of her skirt.

  
The two other men walk down the stairs pausing at the awkward  tension that suddenly envelops the space. Roy scans the room, eyes shrewd - sometimes he's too calculating for his own good and Felicity attempts to interrupt any conclusions he's going to come to by doing what she does best - talking.

  
  
"Well! How was your day? Had pretty good weather for a November in Starling right?" This isn't going well to say the least. "No rain, high 60's. Perfect park weather if I do so say myself. Not that I get to go to the park often. "

  
  
It doesn't take long for Roy to lock eyes with Oliver, curl his lip in childish disgust and make his way back up the stairs. Felicity looks startled by his sudden exit, taking a couple steps towards Diggle. "What? What did I say?"

  
  
As Oliver follows her, John just crosses his arms and shakes his head at the two. "You've got, uh, a little something there," he taps the corner where his lips meet, "Mr. Queen."

  
Felicity's head turns, watching as Oliver's hand comes up to swipe away a large swatch of bright pink lipstick - she ducks her head in mortification, lips turned inward from embarrassment.

  
"Digg - "

  
John holds up a hand.

  
"Stop. You're both adults and I really don't want to know."

  
Oliver nods his head, an almost smile on his face, and Felicity feels his fingers curl into hers behind their backs. Diggle goes to leave, no work will be getting done tonight, and he has people waiting for him at home, but pauses at the door to say, "One more thing. Not on the mats or anywhere I eat or we will have words. Long, serious words."

  
Felicity closes her mouth and leans her head to the side in thought, not at all imagining what John is suggesting. Oliver's fingers interlace with hers behind their backs, and they both wave at Diggle with the other hand as he leaves.

  
  
Oliver swivels to face her and she looks at him for a second, really looks. His shoulders are relaxed and there's the shadow of a smile on his face, she feels about as light as he looks, but their original conversation isn't over.

  
  
"I'm still going to do what I want, you know?"

  
Oliver stiffens, eyebrows coming together and jaw clenching with an indeterminable emotion, but then it all drains out of him and he bows his head in apology. "Wouldn't be you if you didn't."

  
  
Felicity smiles and leans up on her toes to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: fuscience  
> feel free to drop by the old inbox!


End file.
